“Did Pantera order the hit in here?”
Tattoo-Face stepped aside then, and three more men approached. Not Mexicans. Their won tattoos were different, darker, harsher. On their faces nothing was expressed except his own terrible death.
“These men were ordered to carry out your last demise. Not me.”
Bodie stared at them, instantly knowing they were not inmates, not even of this continent. But who the hell were they? And why… why him?
Gonna die without knowing. Shit.
The new men came in close, hands made into hard fists with even knuckles sporting tattoos. Bodie studied them even as the end of his life approached. The old adage slammed constantly at his mind like an incessant jackhammer.
Survive. Survive. Survive.
I did well. But never lived up to my promise.
The sad thought would be his last. The unknown threesome moved in.
Bodie raised his face, defiant, gathering himself for a final onslaught. No way would he let them take him without a damn bloody last fight.
A shot rang out. Nothing like the handgun he’d used; this was new and military grade — a Heckler and Koch if his ears weren’t playing tricks. On the surface that didn’t tell him a whole hell of a lot, but what he was certain of was that nobody chasing him around this prison had access to one. That left various groups from the SAS and Delta Force to HRT and GSG. Either way, it was an interesting intervention.
More shots joined the first. Several parties were coming his way. Then Tattoo-Face collapsed in mid-flight, a bullet shattering his chest. The attacking force were taking no chances, riddling everyone in the vicinity. Bodie finally got a look at them.
Clad in camo, with full-face masks, flak jackets, and bristling with weapons, they were about as intimidating as an attacking force could get. Special Forces teams were usually quite small, but this was ten strong, and had to have more support close by. They came in formation, firing constantly and carefully, spreading the Mexicans out and lacing the three unknown men with lead. Those that returned fire were killed. Bodie saw a handful of guards attempting to intervene and then saw them gunned down.
The new team meant business all right.
They ran up to Bodie, guns down, lifted him under the armpits, and pulled him along between them with his feet barely dragging along the floor.
Still laying fire down at every head that popped up.
Bodie let it go. The pain was immense. The mental anguish was almost overwhelming. If this were his team they would have let him know. So after ten days in hell another crew had assaulted the prison to break him out.
What next?
CHAPTER EIGHT
Cassidy Coleman dried her long red hair with a towel, then used the damp material to dab cold droplets from her shoulders and arms. The shower had steamed up her room, obscuring all the windows, but she knew didn’t have to check that she was alone because none of the security procedures she’d put in place had been tripped. Naked, she stood for a moment, clearing the glass of her second-floor window so she could stare out across the golden beach and shimmering Acapulco Bay, far across the Pacific, taking in the calmness and the breadth of it all, the natural wonder of the vista.
Outgoing, loud, confident, she enjoyed the quiet moment before dressing, then grabbed her gear. They were ready for tonight; all they needed was to assemble and get going. Cross had suggested 9 a.m. in the lobby. The plan was set. They would hit the prison hard tonight and retrieve Bodie. Finally, their critical inaction was at an end.
She exited the room with no intention to return, found the elevators, and made her way down. The lobby area was busy, conversation rolling in from every corner. Cross, Gunn and Jemma were waiting for her over in the far corner, the quietest place they could find and one from which they could keep an eye on the parking lot.
“All good?” She sauntered up to them, stopped, and planted her hands on her hips.
“Yeah.” Cross was studying the vehicles outside, squinting hard.
“You forget your contact lenses, old man?”
Cross didn’t even look around. “Fuck off.”
“I just got here.”
“I think we all need to move out,” Jemma said. “Once we get close we’ve some setting up to do.”
They hefted their rucksacks, lowered their caps, and headed out into the sunny parking lot. A bellboy stared over but made no move to follow. A large SUV crunched up to a free bay, reversing in. The skies were bright blue and the temperature already climbing.
“Idyllic days,” Jemma remarked.
“I prefer London,” Gunn grumbled. “There’s nowhere like the place you were born, and it’s too bloody hot here.”
“Yeah, you got that right,” Cassidy jibed. “Nowhere like a fume-choked, overpopulated, underfunded hive of wealth, poverty, greed and dog-eat-dog. I love it there.”
Gunn glared. “Where were you born, Miss USA?”
“Look at me, fool.” Cassidy lowered her voice. “Where’d you think I was born?”
“Hollywood,” Cross said.
“Close enough.”
Gunn made a neutral face. “I never actually knew that.”
“Well, I never actually tell anyone.”
“You get any movie parts?”
“A few. Bit parts, you know? Mostly after I learned to fight. Catwalk model turns to MMA, that kind thing.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, it was shit, and I was much younger.”
“Forty?” Cross sent over a bold grin.
“Ooh, says the pensioner over there.”
“Age doesn’t impede you, Cass. It’s an experience that enables you.”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Grandpa.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing one of those movies,” Gunn persisted.
“I bet.” Cassidy laughed. “Maybe one day I’ll reveal a title. Maybe. You gotta prove yourself to me first, Gunn.”
The tech geek turned away. “So I understand. Being the only non-fighter in a group really pisses me off.”
“Yeah, sucks don’t it? You gotta put yourself in harm’s way to get real respect from soldiers, dude. Sitting behind a desk, no matter the results, just ain’t gonna do it.”
The van they’d hired was large, powerful, metallic gray, and comfortably held five people with an abundance of room in the back. They’d left it far away, parked in a quiet corner. Cross flicked the remote at it and a double-beep sounded. Lights flashed. Cassidy shrugged off her pack and prepared to stow it in the back. The soft, warm breeze and glowing sun-rays caressed her shoulder for a moment.
Nice to have the sun on my back again. We’ve been to far too many places, crawling in and waiting for the darkness, risked too much, not to enjoy a moment like this.
The roar of an engine brought her back, snapping instantly to the present. She pulled the pack close, opening the zipper, and turned around.
A black van, similar to their own, roared up their part of the parking lot and swung in alongside them. Two men wearing sunglasses occupied the front. There was no telling what might emerge from the rear. It could be innocuous, but their team hadn’t avoided capture and death for so long without taking immediate precautions. Cassidy pulled her pack to her stomach, unzipping the top. Cross slipped to the rear of their vehicle, taking Gunn with him. Jemma was as streetwise as any of them, and followed Cassidy’s lead.
Side doors were flung open, legs emerged. Cassidy pulled out a brand new, unused Glock and fell to one knee. Jemma covered her. The legs wore black trousers and belonged to a male that also sported an expensive jacket and mirrored sunglasses. He jumped to the ground and made no other moves. Then another male that looked exactly the same hopped out.